On the edge of evening, when the last of the light was gathered in the
pale-green upper sky, and all the world of the quiet backwoods clearings
was sunken in a soft violet dusk, a leisurely and self-possessed little
animal came strolling among the ancient stumps and mossy hillocks of the
open upland sheep-pasture. He was about the size of an average cat, but
shorter of leg, with a long, sharp-muzzled head, and he carried his
broad feathery tail very high in a graceful arch, like a squirrel in
good humour. Unlike most other creatures of the wild, his colouring was
such as to make him conspicuous rather than to conceal him. He was
black, with a white stripe down his face, a white patch on the back of
his neck, and a white stripe all the way along each side of his body.
And, also, unlike the rest of the furtive folk, he seemed quite
unconcerned to hide his movements from observation. Neither was he for
ever glancing this way and that, as if on the watch for enemies. Rather
he had the air of being content that his enemies should do the
watching—and avoid him.
The skunk—for such was the undignified appellation of this very
dignified personality of the wilderness—was pleasantly engrossed in his
own business. That business, at the moment, consisted in catching the
big, fat, juicy, copper-brown “June-bugs” as they emerged from their
holes in the sod, crawled up the bending grass-stems, and spread their
wings for their heavy evening flight. It was easy hunting, and he had no
need of haste. To snap up these great, slow and clumsy beetles as they
clung upon the grass-stems was as easy as picking strawberries, and,
indeed, not altogether dissimilar, as he would nip off the hard, glossy
wing-cases of the big beetles as one nips off the hull of the berry
before munching the succulent morsel.
Having slept the day through in his snug burrow, in the underbrush which
fringed the forest edge of the clearing, he had come forth into the dewy
twilight equipped with a fine appetite. He had come with the definite
purpose of hunting “June-bugs,” this being the season, all too brief,
for that highly-flavoured delicacy. At first he had thought of nothing
else; but when he had taken the edge off his hunger, he began to
consider the chances of varying his diet. As he seized an unlucky
beetle, close to the edge of a flat, spreading juniper bush, a brooding
ground-sparrow flew up, with a startled _cheep_, from under his very
nose. He dropped the beetle and made a lightning pounce at the bird. But
her wing had flicked him across the eyes, confusingly, and he missed
her. He knew well enough, however, what her presence there among the
warm grass-tussocks meant. He went nosing eagerly under the juniper
bush, and soon found a nest with four little brown-mottled eggs in it.
Tiny though they were, they made a tit-bit very much to his taste, all
the more so that they were very near hatching. Having licked his jaws
and fastidiously polished the fur of his shrewd, keen face, he sauntered
off to see what other delicacies the evening might have in store for
him.
A little further on, toward the centre of the pasture, he came upon a
flat slab of rock, its surface sloping toward the south, its southward
edge slightly overhanging and fringed with soft grass. He knew the rock
well—knew how its bare surface drank in the summer sun all day long, and
held the warmth throughout the dew-chill nights. He knew, too, that
other creatures besides himself might very well appreciate this genial
warmth. Stealthily, and without the smallest disturbance of the grassy
fringe, he sniffed along the overhanging edge of the rock. Suddenly he
stiffened, and his sharp nose darted in under the rock. Then he jerked
back, with the writhing tail of a snake between his jaws.
The prize was a big black-and-yellow garter snake, not far from three
feet long,—not venomous, but full of energy and fight. It tried to cling
to its hiding-place; but the shrewd skunk, instead of attempting to pull
it out straight, like a cork from a bottle neck, ran forward a pace or
two, and, as it were, “peeled” it forth. It doubled out, struck him
smartly in the face with its harmless fangs, and then coiled itself
about his neck and forelegs. There was a moment of confused
rough-and-tumble, but the skunk knew just how to handle this kind of
antagonist. Having bitten the reptile’s tail clean through, he
presently, with the help of his practised little jaws, succeeded in
getting hold of it by the back, an inch or two behind the head. This
ended the affair, as a struggle, and the victor proceeded to round off
his supper on snake. He managed to put away almost all but the head and
tail, and then, after a meticulous toilet to fur and paws—for he was as
fastidiously cleanly as a cat—he sauntered back toward his burrow in the
underbrush, to refresh himself with a nap before seeking further
adventures.
Directly in his path stood three or four young seedling firs, about two
feet high, in a dense cluster. Half a dozen paces beyond this tiny
thicket a big red fox, belly to earth, was soundlessly stalking some
quarry, perhaps a mouse, which could be heard ever so faintly rustling
the grass-stems at the edge of the thicket. To the skunk, with his
well-filled belly, the sound had no interest. He rounded the thicket and
came face to face with the fox.
Neither in size, strength, nor agility was he any match for the savage
red beast which stood in his path, and was quite capable, indeed, of
dispatching him in two snaps of his long, lean jaws. But he was not in
the least put out. Watchful, but cool, he kept straight on, neither
delaying nor hastening his leisurely and nonchalant progress. The fox,
on the other hand, stopped short. He was hungry. His hunting was
interfered with, for that rustling under the fir-branches had stopped.
His fine red brush twitched angrily. Nevertheless, he had no stomach to
tackle this easy-going little gentleman in the black-and-white stripes.
Showing his long white teeth in a vindictive but noiseless snarl, he
stepped aside. And the skunk, glancing back with bright eyes of
vigilance and understanding, passed on as if the twilight world belonged
to him. He knew—and he knew his enemy knew as well—that he carried with
him a concealed weapon of such potency that no fox, unless afflicted
with madness, would ever willingly run up against it.
Reaching his burrow in the underbrush without further adventure, he
found it empty. His mate and her young ones—now three-quarters
grown—were scattered away foraging for themselves over the wide,
forest-scented clearings. It was a spacious burrow, dug by a sturdy,
surly old woodchuck, who, though usually as pugnacious as a badger and
an obstinate stickler for his rights, had in this case yielded without a
fight to the mild-mannered little usurper, and humped off in disgust to
hollow a new abode much deeper in the forest, where such a mischance
would not be likely to happen him again. Under the tenancy of the skunk
family the burrow was sweet and dry and daintily kept. With a little
grumble of content deep in his throat he curled himself up and went to
sleep.
When he woke and set forth again to renew his foraging, although he had
only slept an hour, his vigorous digestion had quite restored his
appetite. He had no more thought for June-bugs. He wanted bigger game,
more red-blooded and with some excitement in it. He thought of the
farmyard, half a mile away across the clearings, down over the round of
the upland. It was weeks now since he had visited it. There might be
something worth picking up. There might be a mother hen with chickens,
in a pen which he could find a way into. There might be a hen sitting on
her clutch of eggs in a stolen nest under the barn. He had discovered in
previous seasons that most sitting hens had their nests provided for
them in secure places which he could in no way manage to come at. But he
had also found that sometimes a foolish and secretive—and very young—hen
will _hide_ her nest in some such out-of-the-way place as under the barn
floor, where the troublesome human creatures who preside over the
destinies of hens cannot get at it. Here she keeps her precious eggs all
to herself till she has enough to cover comfortably, and then she
proceeds to the pleasant task of brooding them, and has things all her
own way till some night-prowler comes along and convicts her, finally
and fatally, of her folly.
A full moon, large and ruddy like a ripe pumpkin, was just rising behind
the jagged black tops of the spruce forest. It threw long, fantastic,
confusing shadows across the dewy hillocks of the pasture. Hither and
thither, in and out and across the barred streaks of light, darted the
wild rabbits, gambolling as if half beside themselves, as if smitten
with a midsummer madness by the capricious magic of the night. But if
mad, they retained enough sound sense to keep ever at a prudent distance
from the leisurely striped wayfarer who appeared so little interested in
their sport. Though they were bigger than he, they knew that, if they
should venture within reach of his pounce, his indifference would vanish
and his inexorable fangs would be in their throats.
Knowing his utter inability to compete with the speed of the rabbits,
now they were wide awake, the skunk hardly noticed their antics, but
kept on his direct path toward the farmyard. Presently, however, his
attention was caught by the rabbits scattering off in every direction.
On the instant he was all alert for the cause. Mounting a hillock, he
caught sight of a biggish shaggy-haired dog some distance down the
pasture. The dog was racing this way and that as crazily, it seemed, as
the rabbits, with faint little yelps of excitement and whines of
disappointment. He was chasing the rabbits with all his energy; and it
was evident that he was a stranger, a new-comer to the wilderness world,
for he seemed to think he might hope to catch the fleet-foot creatures
by merely running after them. As a matter of fact, he had just arrived
that same day at the backwoods farm from the city down the river. His
experience had been confined to streets and gardens and the chasing of
cats, and he was daft with delight over the spacious freedom of the
clearings. The skunk eyed him scornfully, and continued his journey with
the unconcern of an elephant.
A moment later the dog was aware of a little, insignificant
black-and-white creature coming slowly towards him as if unconscious of
his presence. Another rabbit! But as this one did not seem alarmed, he
stopped and eyed it with surprise, his head cocked to one side in
inquiry. The skunk half turned and moved off slowly, deliberately, at
right angles to the path he had been following.
With a yelp of delight the dog dashed at this easy victim, which seemed
so stupid that it made no effort to escape. He was almost upon it.
Another leap and he would have had it in his jaws. But the amazing
little animal turned its back on him, stuck its tail straight in the
air, and jerked up its hindquarters with a derisive gesture. In that
instant something hot and soft struck the inexperienced hunter full in
the face—something soft, indeed, but overwhelming, paralyzing. It
stopped him dead in his tracks. Suffocating, intolerably pungent, it
both blinded him and choked him. His lungs refused to work, shutting up
spasmodically. Gasping and gagging, he grovelled on his belly and strove
frantically to paw his mouth and nostrils clear of the dense, viscous
fluid which was clogging them. Failing in this, he fell to rooting
violently in the short grass, biting and tearing at it and rolling in
it, till some measure of breath and eyesight returned to him. Thereupon,
his matted head all stuck with grass and moss and dirt, he set off
racing madly for the farm-house, where he expected to get relief from
the strange torment which afflicted him. But when he pawed and whined at
the kitchen door for admittance, he was driven off with contumely and
broomsticks. There was nothing for him to do but slink away with his
shame to a secluded corner between the wagon-shed and the pig-pen, where
he could soothe his burning muzzle in the cool winds and fresh earth. On
the following day one of the farm hands, with rude hands and
unsympathetic comment, scrubbed him violently with liquid soap and then
clipped close his splendid shaggy coat. But it was a week before he was
readmitted to the comfortable fellowship of the farmhouse kitchen.
For a moment or two, with a glance of triumph in his bright eyes, the
skunk had watched the paroxysms of his discomfited foe. Then, dropping
the tip of his tail into its customary disdainful arch, he had turned
back towards his burrow. This was a redoubtable foe whom he had just put
to rout, and he had expended most of his armoury upon him. He had no
wish to risk another encounter until the potent secretion which he
carried in a sac between the powerful muscles of his thighs should have
had time to accumulate again. He dropped, for that night, all notion of
the distinctly adventurous expedition to the farmyard, contenting
himself with snapping up a few beetles and crickets as he went. He was
lucky enough to pounce upon an indiscreet field-mouse just as she
emerged from her burrow, and then a few minutes’ digging with his
powerful and expert fore-paws had served to unearth the mouse’s nest
with her half-dozen tiny blind sucklings. So he went home well satisfied
with himself. Before re-entering he again made a careful toilet; and as
the opening of the sac from which he had projected the potent fluid into
his enemy’s face had immediately closed up tight and fast, he carried no
trace of the virulent odour with him. Indeed, that fluid was a thing
which he never by any chance allowed to get on to his own fur. Always,
at the moment of ejecting it, the fur on his thighs parted and lay back
flat to either side of the naked vent of the sac, and the long tail
cocked itself up rigidly, well out of the way. It was a stuff he kept
strictly for his foes, and never allowed to offend either himself or his
friends.
On entering his burrow he found there his mate and all the youngsters,
curled up together in the sleep of good digestion and easy conscience.
He curled himself up with them, that the supply of his high-explosive
might accumulate during another forty winks.
About an hour before the dawn he awoke again, feeling hungry. The rest
of the family were still sleeping, having gorged themselves, as he might
have done had it not been for that encounter with the misguided dog. He
left them whimpering contentedly in their cosy slumber, and crept forth
into the dewy chill alone, his heart set on mice and such-like
warm-blooded game.
The moon was now high overhead, sailing honey-coloured through a faintly
violet sky. The rough pasture, with its stumps and hillocks, was touched
into a land of dream.
Now, it chanced that an old bear, who was accustomed to foraging in the
valley beyond the cedar swamp, had on this night decided to bring her
cub on an expedition toward the more dangerous neighbourhood of the
clearings. She wanted to begin his education in all the wariness which
is so necessary for the creatures of the wild in approaching the works
and haunts of man. On reaching the leafy fringe of bushes which fringed
the rude rail-fence dividing the forest from the pasture, she cautiously
poked her head through the leafage, and for perhaps a minute, motionless
as a stone, she interrogated the bright open spaces with eyes and ears
and nostrils. The cub, taking the cue from his mother, stiffened to the
like movelessness at her side, his bright little eyes full of interest
and curiosity. There was no sign of danger in the pasture. In fact,
there were the merry rabbits hopping about in the moonlight undisturbed.
This was a sign of security quite good enough for the wise old bear.
With crafty and experienced paws she forced a hole in the fence—leaving
the top rail, above the binder, in its place—and led the eager cub forth
into the moonlight.
The special notion of the bear in coming to the pasture was to teach her
cub the art of finding, unearthing, and catching the toothsome wild
mice. Keeping along near the fence, she sniffed the tussocky, uneven
grass with practised nose. But the first thing she came upon was a
bumble-bees’ nest. This was far more to her taste than any mice. She
gave a low call to the cub; but the cub was preoccupied now, sniffing at
the rabbit tracks, and lifting himself on his hindquarters to stare
longingly at the rabbits, who were hopping off to discreeter distance.
The mother did not insist on his coming to watch her tackle the bees’
nest. After all, he was perhaps a bit young to face the stings of the
angry bees, and she might as well have the little hoard of honey and
larvæ and bee-bread for herself. The cub wandered off a little way, with
some vague notion of chasing the elusive rabbits.
Just then through the edge of the underbrush appeared the skunk,
stretching himself luxuriously before he started off across the pasture.
He saw the bear, but he knew that sagacious beast would pay him no
attention whatever. He trotted out into the moonlight and pounced upon a
fat black cricket as an appetizer.
The cub caught sight of the pretty little striped creature, and came
darting clumsily and gaily to the attack. He would show his mother that
he could do some hunting on his own account. The striped creature turned
its back on him and moved off slowly. The cub was delighted. He was just
going to reach out a rude little paw and grab the easy prize. Then the
inevitable happened. The pretty striped creature gave its stern a
contemptuous jerk, and the deluded cub fell in a heap, squealing,
gasping, choking, and pawing convulsively at the horrible sticky stuff
which filled his mouth and eyes.
Just before the catastrophe occurred, the old bear had looked up from
her business with the bees, and had uttered a loud _woof_ of warning.
But too late. The last thing in the world she wanted to do was to try
any fooling with a skunk. But now her rage at the suffering and
discomfiture of her little one swept away all prudence. With a grunt of
fury she charged at the offender. One glance at the approaching
vengeance convinced the skunk that this time he had made a mistake. He
turned and raced for the underbrush as fast as his little legs would
carry him. But that was not fast enough. Just as he was about to dart
under the fence, a huge black paw, shod with claws like steel, crashed
down upon him, and his leisurely career came to an end.
The bear, in deep disgust, scraped her reeking paw long and earnestly in
the fresh earth beneath the grass, then turned her attention to the
unhappy cub. She relieved her feelings by giving him a sharp cuff which
sent him sprawling a dozen feet. Then, relenting, she showed him how to
clean himself by rooting in the earth. At length, when he could see and
breathe once more with some degree of comfort, she indignantly led him
away back into the depths of the consoling forest.
Printed in the United States of America.